


Cold

by f0rever15elf



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Deadly situation, Gen, Hypothermia mention, Pedro Pascal - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rever15elf/pseuds/f0rever15elf
Summary: The middle of space is the last place you want your ship to give out, so when that is exactly what happens to Din, he’s prepared for the worst. What is isn’t prepared for, is you.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The mandalorian / reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 118





	Cold

Traveling across the galaxy brings with it many uncertainties. One never knows when they may cross paths with danger, or where they may find the next place to lay their weary head and restock on supplies. And now, with the galaxy facing the upheaval in the wake of the fall of the Empire, that uncertainty has only grown greater. Previously secure trade routes have grown overrun with pirates, the New Republic only able to do so much to keep things secure. Some trade routes have even died out completely, leaving vast swaths of space barren. But even with all of this uncertainty, one thing remains constant.

Space is very, very cold.

Strings of curses in Mando’a echo around the hull of the otherwise quiet Razor Crest, the hum of the backup generator the only other source of noise. It’s followed by several loud bangs and the sound of the engines attempting to splutter on before quickly whining as they fizzle out again. More curses follow as the exasperated Mandalorian sits back against the wall of the hull. _Pre-Imperial hunk of junk,_ he thinks to himself as he stares at the ceiling.

The Razor Crest is an old ship, held together by strip adhesive and more welds and patches than original material, but she has always been reliable, getting Din Djarin the Mandalorian wherever he needed to be. She’s gotten him out of more tough scrapes than he cares to remember, and has taken him from bounty to bounty, always dependable. But even the most reliable of vessels eventually shows their age.

Din had been in hyper when the first strange groan of the ship sounded through the hull. He brushed it off as one of the typical groans of an old ship, thinking he would be fine. He was about to drop out of hyper anyways. When a second groan reverberated through the ship, worry settled over him. He moved to drop out of hyperspace, but a moment too late. The hyperdrive whined as it shut down, lurching the Crest back into realspace and tossing Din from his seat. The hyperdrive failing was followed closely by the main engines making the same sound, whining and protesting as they fizzled out. The control panel buzzed as a dozen different lights flashed at him. He tested several switches, but to no avail. He was dead in the water. Stranded in the cold recesses of space.

Never one to leave his existence up to fate, he immediately set to work in an attempt to make whatever repairs he could internally. He couldn’t access the hyperdrive from inside, but if he could just get the engines going, he could limp the Crest to the nearest planet for more extensive repairs. He tried every trick in the book in an attempt to get the old girl running again, but no luck, earning nothing more than a few splutters of an engine too long without solid maintenance.

“ _Haar’chak,”_ he grumbles under his breath. _Damn it_. He has to think of something, anything to get him and the kid out of this. His eyes slip closed for a minute before he lurches to his feet. The kid! He slams the button of the bunk open only to see the contents strewn about from the force of the unexpected drop from hyperspace, two green ears sticking out of the mass of clothes and weapon maintenance equipment. The child whines, unable to move the entirety of the time Din had been working. “ _Adi’ka,_ I’m so sorry.” He quickly frees the child, cradling him against his chest as he soothingly rubs along his ears. “You ok?” The baby looks up at him with wide, dark eyes, head tilting back and forth in confusion. “At least the backup power still works.”

The funny thing about fate, is that she has a cruel sense of humor. No sooner had the words left the Mandalorian’s mouth, the lights flicker out as the backup generator shutting down. The baby lets out a string of babbles that sound suspiciously close to “you were saying?” and Din sighs a world-weary sigh as he crawls into the cot. He brings a blanket around his little green son before shutting the door. With the backup generator off-line, the heating unit of the ship would be nonfunctional. The temperature of the ship would begin to drop as space sinks her icy claws into the helpless vessel. The last thing Din does before pulling his son to his chest is type in the code for the distress signal on his vembrace. Maker willing, it would be their salvation.

It doesn’t take long for the temperature to drop to uncomfortable levels in the Crest and the baby lets out a distressed whine as he shivers in his father’s arms. Din’s breath hangs in small puffs in the air, curling from under his helmet as he curls his body around his son, sharing as much of his warmth with his foundling as possible. The two are bundled in every blanket and cape he has, but it does little to beat back the air growing ever colder. They don’t have much longer, he knows as much, and he bites at his lip to keep the tears from his eyes.

“ _Ni ceta, ner adi’ka.” I am sorry, my little one._ The child whines again, clinging tight to the fabric of his father’s flight suit, his little fingers trembling. He knows something is wrong beyond just being cold, he can sense it. Din feels himself grow lethargic, a sure sign of hypothermia and if he had the energy he would have chuckled at how blasé an ending this is for such a renowned Mandalorian.

Just as his eyes begin to drift closed, the ship lurches. He lifts his head just enough to look at his vembrace, the red distress beacon alternating with a flash of green. Some one had heard them. Maker be praised, they wouldn’t die just yet. Fingers aching with cold reach for the buttons of the vembrace, clicking on the communicator to reroute the comms from the Crest through his armor.

“-rest. Come in Razor Crest. Are you receiving?” The voice that crackles to life in the small compartment sounds more beautiful than any music he had ever heard before. The voice of salvation.

“Th-th-this is R-R-R-Razor Cre-e-e-st. R-R-Re-c-ceiving.” The words barely make it past his frozen lips. “C-c-c-cold.”

“Copy that, Razor Crest. I’ve got you in my tractor beam. I’m towing you down to the surface of Lah’mu. Help will be there shortly, hang on just a few more minutes.” If Din could laugh in exasperation, he would have.

The ride being towed along by the tractor beam of the unknown rescuing ship is a bumpy one, entering through the atmosphere of Lah’mu. Thankfully, the temperature stops dropping, but the inside is still cold, Din and the child still teetering on the edge of succumbing to hypothermia. From the moment he feels the Crest touch down, his consciousness grows fuzzy. He is vaguely aware of the bay door dropping with a groan as it’s forced open without any electronic help. He hears the compartment door crackle and hiss open, and he’s thankful he had put the helmet on to try and keep the heat from escaping his head too quickly. That same voice that crackled through his vembrace speaks to him as though he is under water, muffled and far away. _You’re safe now._

~~~

You’re out on a usual supply run, hopping planet to planet as you make your way to get a new pod for your hyperdrive from your friend on Lah’mu. Why a farm girl has a stash of hyperdrive pods, you have no idea, but it’s convenient for you nevertheless. As you approach the quiet planet, you pick up a faint ping on your emergency transmitter. You dial up the sound, making out an S.O.S signal not too far from the course you’re currently tracking. A frown tugs at your lips as you switch your nav over to the homing beacon. Someone needed help, and you’ll be damned if you ignore that.

Your eyes sweep back and forth across the transparisteel visor of your ship, trying to locate the source of the distress. When your eyes finally land on the dark Razor Crest just drifting through space, your heart sinks. You pray you aren’t too late. Flipping on your transmitter, you run a signal to the ship. “Razor Crest, come in Razor Crest, do you copy?” You’re met with dead air as you respond to the distress beacon. “Razor Crest, are you receiving me?” You wait another moment before trying one final time. “I repeat. Razor Crest, come in Razor Crest. Are you receiving?”

The air crackles and a weak, modulated voice cracks through your speakers. “Th-th-this is R-R-R-Razor Cre-e-e-st. R-R-Re-c-ceiving. C-c-c-cold.” A sigh of relief passes through your lips as you move into towing position, flipping on your tractor beam. Thank the Maker you had one of these retrofitted, even if it did cost you a year’s worth of saved credits to do so.

“Copy that, Razor Crest. I’ve got you in my tractor beam. I’m towing you down to the surface of Lah’mu. Help will be there shortly, hang on just a few more minutes.” There’s no telling how long this ship had been floating without power, but from the sound of it, the crew, or what remains of them, is in a bad way. Time is of the essence.

You make your way to the surface, Razor Crest in tow as you navigate to an open pasture, carefully setting both ships down. Once safely on the ground, you spring to action, gathering every blanket you have before making your way to the crippled Crest. You’re going to have to force the bay open, so with a sigh, you begin cranking the manual release lever, opening it just enough for you to hop inside and find the crew.

The hull is silent and absolutely freezing, a thin layer of ice crystals covering every exposed surface. “Hello?” you call, making your way to the front of the ship. Your eyes land on the closed door of a sleeping bunk and you make a bee-line for it. It’s frozen shut, resulting in you using your pry bar to break it free. The door hisses as the air equalizes, a t-visor helmet lifting just enough to look at you before falling back against the cot. Your heart leaps into your throat when you see a small creature wrapped in the helmeted figure’s hold. You need to get them warm. Now.

The quarters are cramped, but you make it work as you squirm your way into the bunk with your blankets. You strip the frozen ones from him, tucking the warmer ones you bring back around him. As you do, you carefully take the small green…thing? From his hold. It’s eyes are closed and it’s shivering something fierce. The crewman makes a sound of protest, a weak grunt as he tries to reach for the creature. “It’s ok,” you soothe as you loosen your tunic to tuck the child against your body. “He needs to get warm too.” You kneel in the cot alongside the shivering man with slowly melting ice on his helmet. The temperature is rising, but he is in no way out of danger yet.

“I’m going to lay next to you, ok? You need to warm up and body heat is the quickest way to do that without sending you into shock.” A slight nod of the helmet is all the permission you need to slot yourself between the covers. The duraweave of his suit is clinging to the cold and you swear under your breath as you tangle your legs with his in an attempt to fit side by side in the bunk. “Shirt needs to come off your chest, it’ll keep you cold.” He grunts again, shaking his head this time. “Shirt comes off or you’re gonna die!” you scold, pressing up against him under the blankets. His clothes are freezing and it sends a shiver through your body as the cold fabric leeches the heat from you. Your hands find the hem of his shirt, slowly sliding up under the fabric to raise it. He’s all hard muscle under the cloth, tense from the shivers from the cold. He protests again, but makes no move to stop you. Slowly, you ease his arms from the shirt until the cloth just hangs around his neck.

You tug the blanket up over your heads before turning your attention back to the man laying next to you in the crowded bunk. Hands rub frantically at his skin, trying to use the friction to warm him up, using the blanket to trap your breath inside with you. The creature pressed against your stomach under your shirt has stopped shivering, thankfully, and has started cuddling against your warmth as you work to warm the helmeted man. “You’re lucky I was headed this way. You’re far off any trade routes,” you mumble as your hands run up and down his bicep, the other pressed against the skin of his neck under the duraweave suit. Your tangled limbs slowly warm as the added body heat builds in the space under your blankets. “Dead in the water in space is usually a death sentence.” He grunts again, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. His pulse is strong enough under your hand, that you don’t worry about him dozing off on you. “Sleep,” you finally tell him, feeling him slowly relax under your hands as his body makes its way back to a normal temperature.

Din tries to fight it, knowing he shouldn’t trust a stranger here in his bunk. What if you did something to him? To the child? What if you tried to remove his helmet and break his creed? The way your hands move across his skin sends a shiver through him, one not due to the cold. He can feel the child against him, resting between your stomachs, and takes security in the fact that he’s stopped shivering. Your hand at his neck is soft and gentle and so warm, it only acts to pull him deeper. He winces for only a moment as you remove his stiffened gloves from his aching hands, tucking his hands between your bodies to warm the frozen digits. Maybe he could rest for just a moment. Maybe that would be ok.

As the man goes limp, finally succumbing to his exhaustion, you let out a relieved breath as you keep working to warm his body. The whole time, you raise silent prayers to the Maker that you had found him in time. If you had been only a few minutes later… well… you didn’t want to think about that possibility. Eventually, his body reaches a more normal temperature and his breaths are deep and even as he sleeps. The child clinging to you stays sound asleep as well, his little breaths steady. The little bunk really is cozy, especially with the three of you snuggled together, and it isn’t long before you’re following them into dreamland.

When Din rouses, he immediately tenses at the feeling of unfamiliar arms around him. The events leading up to him slipping to sleep are all fuzzy at best, filled with a gentle voice and equally gentle touches. He tilts his head down just enough to see you, your face pressed against his chest as your breaths come in shallow puffs that wash over his skin in the most delightful of manners. Who the hell are you? He tries to wiggle free, pulling the blanket off of your heads, and you stir at the movement, squeezing your eyes shut a little more tightly before fluttering them open. You give him a small, sleepy smile, certain that he’s looking at you through that tinted visor.

“Sorry,” you whisper. It’s that voice. That beautiful voice that paired with his survival. You’re the one who saved him and the child. The child….

“Where’s the kid?” he demands, voice gruff. Your eyebrows raise as you look down, lifting the hem of your shirt to reveal the creature still cuddling against your stomach, snoring softly. He glances down, relief washing over him only to be followed by embarrassment as he realizes his torso is completely bare.

“I think he’s comfortable,” you chuckle, looking back to the visor. “How are you feeling? Your fingers? Anything hurt or burn?” Din watches your face as you quiz him, trying to find any glimmer of deceit in them, any trace of betrayal. All he finds, however, is concern and worry.

“I’m fine,” he says simply, relaxing a bit against you. “Thank you. For saving us.”

You flash him a wide smile as you nod and he feels his heart stutter in his chest. _You’re beautiful._ He blinks behind the visor at the sudden thought, taken aback by it. “You’re welcome…?” You trail off, waiting for his name.

“Mando,” he states, and you nod. An odd name, but you had heard weirder. “Where are we?” He does his best to not react as your hand rests back on his bicep, really having nowhere else to go in the cramped compartment.

“The planet Lah’mu. It’s quiet, a farming planet. My friend should have parts to help fix your ship, here. I’m on business here as well, actually. Came to get a replacement pod for my hyperdrive. She’s good with ships, she’ll fix you right up.” You continue to ramble on, your hand running up and down Mando’s arm absently as you do, and he’s so overwhelmed with the closeness, your warmth and beautiful voice and tender touch drawing all of his focus that he really doesn’t process what you’re saying. “I suppose I should get up and let you do what it is you need to do while I go find Shix.” It’s your turn to begin wiggling away when his hand comes up to rest on your hip. You flash him a look of confusion, stilling under his touch.

“I’m… still tired,” he mutters, trying to come up with some lame excuse to spend a little more time with you.

“You can rest while I go find my friend, that’s ok. I’ll wake you when I’m back.” You flash him a smile as you make to move again, slipping the child carefully from against you, but his hand grips your hip a bit more firmly as he struggles with the words he wants to say. “Mando… are you ok?”

The words catch in his throat and he’s not even sure why he wants to ask you to stay with him, in this cramped little space that has never felt warmer. He licks his lips, his mouth dry. “Would you stay? For just a little longer?” His voice is raspy and soft, quivering with uncertainty that the modulator thankfully smooths. When your face softens and you smile, he relaxes, returning the smile behind his visor.

“I could do with a little more rest, I think.” You settle back in against him, resting your hand once more on his bicep as he drapes his arm over your hips with the child snuggled between the two of you, cooing softly in his sleep. He watches you from behind the visor for a moment, relishing in the feeling of you relaxing in his hold.

“I never got your name,” he finally whispers, the modulator barely picking it up. You smile, eyes slipping closed as you tell it to him softly. He tests the name on his own tongue, deciding he likes the way it sounds when he says it. Perhaps… this could be the start of something. He would figure it out when he wakes up. For now, he holds you close, your warmth, heartbeat, and gentle breaths lulling him back to sleep. 


End file.
